


Faultlines

by Sreya



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Hydra!Skye, Role Reversal, Skyeward Month, au season 2
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-07
Updated: 2017-01-13
Packaged: 2018-04-19 14:52:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4750409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sreya/pseuds/Sreya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Reversed Roles" for week three of SkyeWard Month! </p><p>Grant Ward finished military school and entered SHIELD of his own volition. Skye was the undercover alias for Daisy Johnson, working with John Garrett for her own objectives in Hydra. Each bears the burden of failure after the fall of SHIELD. Each faces a future with dangerous choices.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

[**skyeward month**](http://skyewardmonth.tumblr.com/)→ **week three:** alternative universes ↳ _day 1: reversed roles_

It wasn’t all Daisy’s fault.

It wasn’t her fault that her father was a Hydra scientist and her mother an Inhuman subject who fell in love. It wasn’t her fault that her mother’s health was failing after years of testing, after years of her father’s research running dry. It wasn’t her fault that SHIELD had stolen the Kree artifacts that they needed to keep her mother alive.

It wasn’t her fault that Alexander Pierce revealed Hydra hiding inside SHIELD before she could complete her real mission. It wasn’t her fault that John Garrett had been assigned as her Hydra handler, and that he later went completely insane. It wasn’t her fault that SHIELD agents died in the war between the organizations. 

But it _was_ her fault that she let down her guard during the months undercover as _Skye_ , an orphaned hacker searching for her parents. It _was_ her fault that she actually liked her team, deluding herself into thinking that, for the first time in her life, she belonged somewhere, that she fit in. It _was_ her fault that she thought maybe, just maybe, they would understand that she was only doing what she had to do. For her _family_. Because you don’t turn your back on family, no matter what they’ve done.

It was _her_ fault that May had been shot in the gut in order to force Coulson to seek out the Guest House. It was _her_ fault that Fitz was brain damaged, that he could hardly function. It was _her_ fault that Grant Ward was dead inside, his eyes cruel and empty, instead of warm and encouraging, the way they should be. And it was _her_ fault that while she rotted in this prison cell, her mother was most likely out there somewhere dying while her father slowly followed Garrett into insanity. _That_ was her fault, the consequence of her failures.

But the rest of it? No. That wasn’t Daisy’s fault. And it wasn’t fair of them to blame her for that.

So when Coulson sat outside her cell, accusing her of crimes she’d had no choice but to commit, telling her that nothing she could do would ever, _ever_ , make up for her sins, she would sit with her back to him and gave him nothing but silence.

She never said a word to anybody. But inside, she desperately wished that instead of _Daisy Johnson, Agent of Hydra_ she could truly be _Skye, Agent of SHIELD_ , the woman they once thought she was.

______________

It was all Grant’s fault.

Okay, so maybe it wasn’t Grant’s fault that Skye - _no, it’s Daisy, dammit_ \- turned out to be a traitor. And it’s not his fault that Hydra had been hiding inside of SHIELD for 70 years in the first place. After all, that all started long before he joined the organization. Long before he was even _born_. So even he could admit that if Nick Fury couldn’t stop that from happening, if _Captain America_ couldn’t stop it, it certainly wasn’t Grant Ward’s responsibility.

But it _was_ his fault that he didn’t see the threat inside their very own team. It _was_ his fault that he fell for the deception, the lies, the seemingly genuine innocence of the woman they recruited from the Rising Tide. It _was_ his fault for not realizing that Skye’s ability to completely erase her digital existence really meant that _she’d never existed at all_. He was the specialist on the team, trained in risk assessment and eliminating those risks. But when Skye waxed poetic about freedom of information, about people working together to make a better world, rising above the petty rivalries of government bureaucracies and oligarchical corporations… it appealed to something inside him. Ten years of working as a secret agent takes its toll, it strips away your ability to remember that not _everyone_ in the world had a secret agenda, not _everyone_ was hiding alien artifacts or weapons of mass destruction in their basements. It was refreshing to work with someone who didn’t automatically assume the worst of everyone.

It was _completely his fault_ for falling for the lie that she cared about him. For falling in love with her.

Which meant it was _his_ fault that FitzSimmons were caught up in this awful war, injured and traumatized. It was _his_ fault that May now suffered the same risks as Coulson from being pumped full of some weird alien drug. It was _his_ fault that Koenig was dead, that the Fridge security system had been hacked to allow Hydra agents access, and the team was shattered. None of _that_ would have happened if he’d just _done his damned job_ instead of letting a pair of brown eyes melt away his training.

So even though he knew Sk- _Daisy_ was kept on their own base, he didn’t argue when Coulson kept him off the guard roster for her cell. He stayed away from the medical unit when he heard rumors that she’d been transferred in there for emergency care, trying to convince himself that they would all be better off if whatever was wrong killed her. And he jumped at the opportunity to leave the base on solo missions from Coulson, looking for more examples of that weird writing they’d first seen in Belarus and later scrawled by Garrett into the glass of the Bus.

And when Coulson finally told Grant that he was to go down to Cellblock D and interrogate their prisoner, he simply nodded, locked away the part of him that just wanted to have _Skye_ back again, to listen to her teasing him and saying _bang_ when she pulled the trigger on the practice gun, to see her goading May into a smile and begging Coulson to let her drive Lola, to kiss her until the world faded away and nothing existed except for the two of them… and he vowed to do his job. Nothing more. Nothing less.


	2. Confessions

“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

Ward kept his face carefully blank as he studied the woman beyond the energy grid. Her hair was longer, but it was dull and lifeless; she’d tied it up into a messy bun to keep it out of her way but it wasn’t anything like her usual style. The gray long-sleeve top and sweatpants hung loosely from her frame, making it obvious she’d lost weight while in the cell. He noticed that she still liked to grip the edges of her sleeves, hiding her hands inside like a small child. After what felt a year, but was only a few moments, he forced himself to meet her eyes and respond to her jab. “I should think I’d be the last person you would want to see.”

“No,” she shook her head slightly. “That’d be Saint Coulson with another homily on exactly how I’m going to burn in hell.”

“No homilies today,” Ward held up the tablet in his hand, “just questions.”

“Oh, goodie,” The sarcasm was overly thick, the smirk familiar but with a new edge to it. “Is it a guessing game?”

“It’s I ask the questions and you give me the answers.” He squared his jaw. “What do you know about Carl Creel?”

“Never heard of him,” she answered promptly. “My turn. How’ve you been? Any good missions lately?”

He glared at her. “If you don’t know anything, then I’m not wasting my time down here.” He spun and lifted the tablet to close off the cell.

“Wait!” He paused with his hand just above the screen. “Wait. Not everyone used their real names.” _Oh, really, **Skye**?_ “Do you have a picture of him?”

He swiped the screen to bring up Creel’s file again, then turned around and held it up for her to look at. She leaned in then jumped back as the grid lit up with orange light, absent-mindedly shoving the right sleeve of her shirt up to her elbow and rubbing at it. Ward couldn’t stop the quiet gasp as he caught sight of her right arm - the skin was mottled by healing burns that would most likely leave dark scarring. She followed the line of his sight down and hurriedly let down the sleeve again, tucking her hand inside again. “I…” she muttered, then squared her shoulders and looked at him straight on. “I tried to escape, early on - push my way through the field. Just about had my shoulder through when I finally passed out. They said it’s lucky I used my right side first instead of my left - could have shorted out my heart. Again.”

He pursed his lips, biting back a response.

“Once I knew I couldn’t get out… I stopped eating. Coulson might say it was a hunger strike, but… I just though, what was the point? I’m stuck here in this damn cell and I’m never going to be able to get out and -“ She cut herself off. “Anyway. That was the second trip to the clinic. I kept pulling out the IV and the feeding tube down here, so they sedated me for a week.”

“Too bad they woke you back up,” Ward muttered bitterly, unable to keep the thought to himself.

She winced, but pressed on. “When I woke up… well. It didn’t seem to make sense anymore to give up like that.”

He couldn’t help it. The way she dangled that bit of information was too open-ended. “Why not?”

She caught his gaze again, her brown eyes so familiar as they lit with the slightest hint of her old spark. “If SHIELD… if _people who hate me_ would go to so much trouble to save my life,” she paused, making certain he was listening. “If people like you and Coulson want to make sure I stay alive, then how much harder must my family be trying to find me?”

Ward’s gut twisted inside with sudden envy. He’d almost forgotten… though he’d thought Skye an orphan, _Daisy_ had a family, had parents out there, looking for her. He’d give anything to have that.

He closed his eyes and pushed away those emotions _hard_ , beyond even the little boxes he compartmentalized and into the abyss of memories he was better off forgetting. He lifted the tablet back up again. “Creel?”

“I’ve seen him. One of Garrett’s favorite pets; he used to be a boxer, then somehow he developed this - _ability_ \- to morph his body into whatever he touched. Sort of a reverse King Midas or something. Garrett was sent to assess him for the Index - decided to keep him for himself instead, called him ‘Absorbing Man.’” She snorted in derision. “Guy seemed perfectly happy with the arrangement so long as Garrett gave him interesting playthings to morph with.”

“With Garrett gone, who would he be working for now?”

“I don’t know.” He flicked his eyes toward the exit of the vault. “Wait. I don’t know _who_ , but I can probably tell you _how._ ”

Ward resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. He _hated_ it when she talked in riddles. “English, Skye,” he growled.

“When Hydra was communicating within SHIELD, we’d use white noise in the gaps between SHIELD’s quantum key distribution channels to hide messages. Now, SHIELD might be gone… but not those frequencies. If Hydra is giving commands to Creel, that’ll be how they do it. And once you find those frequencies, you can hear everything they say.”

“Why tell me this now?” Ward demanded, wary of trusting her. “Why not share this information before? It could have made your life a lot easier.”

She shrugged. “Nobody ever asked the right questions.”

“Fine.” He started to stab at the tablet when she again interrupted.

“ _Wait_.” He looked at her in exasperation. “Ward - I mean it. Ask the right questions, and I’ll give you the answers. I’ve no love for Hydra, no matter what I’ve done in the past.”

“Well then, let’s hope we never see what you’d be willing to do for someone you actually care about,” he mocked. “Why would you expect me to even believe you?”

“Because Hydra’s even more dangerous than you know. And you’ll _need_ my information to survive.” She stepped closer again, close enough for him to imagine he could feel her body heat reaching out to him. “And because I wasn’t lying when I said that I do care -“

He hurriedly stabbed the controls on the tablet and the divider turned white, cutting her off before she could say what he didn’t want to hear.

\+ + + + + + + + + +

An hour later, Ward stood in Coulson’s office with a growing sense of horror as the map before them lit up with red to demonstrate the sites broadcasting messages from Hydra.

“Well,” May remarked dryly, “you called it.”

“Talbot hasn't crushed Hydra.” Coulson said, unnecessarily. “Just sent them slithering back to the shadows.” He paused a brief moment. “I hate being right.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this story has grown some legs! I've got a rough idea of where it's going - can easily get myself through about episode 2x06, then a fuzzy idea up to about 10, and after that not sure where it might go. But I'll tell you one thing, this could take some interesting turns!


	3. Answers

Jemma Simmons shrugged her Hydra jacket back on and wrapped her arms around herself, warding off the chilly breeze coming from the frozen ship. The SHIELD team had escaped despite the Hydra soldiers, and Jemma was left to wait while Bakshi coordinated a recovery team to search for Donnie Gill’s body. Apparently, someone in Hydra thought he was still valuable even after he’d been shot and lost over the side of the ship. Taking a deep breath, Jemma forced herself to concentrate on the activity around her. Three men were out taking readings on the ice to search for a point of origin. Another team had gone into the ship to take samples for studying the freezing patterns. She started running through calculations of her own in her head - how cold the water must have become to freeze over enough to support the weight of the men and equipment sitting on it, how long it would take to thaw given the ambient temperature of the Moroccan city, anything to keep herself impersonal and distracted. On the far side of the ship, she heard machinery start up to drill through the ice.

“Dr. Simmons!” Jemma looked to her left to see Bakshi beckoning her toward an SUV that had just driven down the dock. Straightening up, she walked quickly to greet the middle-aged man climbing out of the back seat. He had an overall disheveled appearance, his hair just a bit too long, his coat askew, his trousers slightly too short. “Dr. Simmons,” Bakshi held out a hand toward her, “I don’t believe you’ve met Dr. Zabo.”

Zabo turned in her direction and his eyes lit up. “Dr. _Jemma_ Simmons?” he asked, then reached out to grab her hand and pump it enthusiastically. “Oh, I’ve heard _so_ much about you! It’s a real honor to meet you.”

Jemma forced a smile onto her face. “Thank you, Dr. Zabo. It’s a pleasure to meet you, too.”

“Dr. Zabo is one of our foremost experts on gifted individuals.” Jemma finally extracted her hand from the other scientist’s grip as Bakshi continued the introduction. “He has a special way of looking inside to find out just what makes them tick.”

Zabo just shrugged. “It’s not the looking inside part that’s hard, it’s putting them back together again.” He pushed past the two of them suddenly, lifting up an arm and shouting, “Hey, be careful with that!”

Jemma furrowed her brows as she watched him go, and asked Bakshi, “Wouldn’t he have been more helpful earlier?”

“Well, now that we know Gill won’t be of any active use, he’s a perfect specimen for Dr. Zabo to work on.” Bakshi smiled as if he’d just made the funniest of jokes and turned to watch as a crane lifted a large, solid block of ice up and over the ship to a waiting truck.

“Gently, boys!” Zabo shouted. “Let’s not break this one like you did the last specimen!” Dropping back down to a mutter, “Bullets through the brain, don’t know how anyone expected me to get any decent results from _that!_ ”

Jemma imagined that the ice block lodged in her stomach was as cold and large as the block encasing Donnie Gill.

\+ + + + + + + + + +

When the prison wall disappeared, Daisy scrubbed at her face angrily to hide the tear tracks still evident after Fitz’s visit.

“Why didn’t you _tell_ me that Hydra was brainwashing gifteds?!” Ward was glaring at her from the other side of the Vault, fists clenched and shoulders set. For a brief moment, she felt relief to see him alive and back from the mission. “Or were you deliberately trying to set us up?”

The relief fled. “Are you _kidding_ me? I _tried_ to tell you, Mr. ‘Only Answer the Questions I Ask.’ _You_ shot _me_ down, so don’t go blaming me for incomplete intel!”

Ward took a step back as though physically struck, and she could see his anger fade slightly. He took a couple of deep breaths. “So you did know about it?”

“I know it’s been done. But since I didn’t know it was Donnie Gill specifically you were going after, I couldn’t exactly know it was relevant to your mission today.” She crossed her arms and sat down grumpily on her cot. “I take it things didn’t go well.”

“You don’t need to know that,” he replied in a brusque tone. But it was all Daisy needed to hear to assume the worst.

“Can you at least tell me if anyone on the team was hurt?”

“They’re fine.” This time, his voice was steady and she could see his control slipping back into place. She felt a brief pang of sorrow - for Ward to have been that upset, without the team injured, she guessed he’d been the one to put Donnie down. “How do you know Gill was brainwashed?”

“I knew it would happen as soon as they said they were sending him to the Sandbox,” she replied. “Hydra had a foothold there for a long time.”

Ward closed his eyes briefly and turned as if to go. Daisy fought the impulse to try and stop him - if he had no more questions, he really had no reason to stay, and trying to convince him would only make him angry again. So she was surprised when he stayed in place, asking softly, “How do you know so much about it? Were you brainwashed?”

“Was I brainwashed?” She repeated, then sat quietly, saying nothing until he turned back around to look at her. “That would certainly make things easier, wouldn’t it. If the things I’d done weren’t my choice, if I’d been forced to do those terrible things without knowing what I was doing. I’d be blameless, right?” She stood and walked toward Ward, holding his gaze. “No, Ward. Hydra only brainwashes people that are of particular value to them - it’s hard work and a big commitment. And…” She sighed. “I’ve worked very hard to avoid being seen as valuable to Hydra. But everything I’ve done, every decision I made - those were all mine. And while I wish the results had been different, I still stand by them.” Standing only inches away, she could see she held his complete attention. “But you already knew that, didn’t you.”

“I did,” he replied. “Maybe I just wanted to hear how you would answer me.” With that, he swiped at the tablet in his hand and Daisy was once again cut off from the world outside.

\+ + + + + + + + + +

Later on, Ward sat in the back of the lounge nursing a whiskey in the dark. He hated it that Skye had been right - that he’d been the one to cut her off before the mission, had let his feelings get in the way of doing his job. And Donnie Gill had paid the price. And Jemma… He threw back the whiskey in his glass and poured another. He was _furious_ that Coulson had sent her in without telling any of them that she was going undercover. She wasn’t trained for that kind of work, and the idea of Jemma Simmons successfully lying to Hydra was so foreign to him that he couldn’t imagine how she’d survived this long.

But somehow, she had. It was clear on that ship that Bakshi had at least some trust in her, and she’d solidified that trust by rushing to “protect” him from the wild sniper shots he’d fired to distract everyone. It was just one more change that Ward struggled to process, and while part of him wanted to be proud of her, he was mostly just angry that she was put in that position. Jemma had always had an innocence about her that made her seem like part of a different world, and while it had annoyed Ward at first, he’d eventually grown to appreciate it and had tried to protect that innocence while they were in the field together. He couldn’t help but feel that Hydra was stealing something precious from Jemma Simmons, and once again he was helpless against it.

It was the same feeling he had when he caught Fitz talking to himself in the lab, or struggling to find the right words to explain the intricate ideas in his head. It was clear that Fitz was as intelligent and clever as he ever was, but _expressing_ those ideas, getting them out to where others could use them, had become a nearly insurmountable task. And Ward didn’t know how to help him, much as he wished he could.

_“I wanted it to be a person, someone I could fight, could stop. But this - I feel so helpless.”_

The memory of standing with Skye as they watched FitzSimmons on the monitor washed over him, and he struggled to put it away, back in the box where it belonged. Hell, he shouldn’t even be thinking of her as Skye at all… just how many whiskies had he drunk?

As he tried to figure that out, he saw May entering the lounge and he shrunk back, hoping to avoid notice. But she just ignored him, gathering up random things around the room and placing them on the pool table. Eventually, she seemed to have everything she’d been looking for and started moving around the items on the green felt. Ward’s curiosity got the better of him, and he quietly came up behind her at an angle to see what she was working on.

Gathered on the table were the pool balls and cues, a box of pens, some round coasters, and string. She moved each of them into place carefully, measuring out the string, placing the pens and cues at precise angles with the balls and coasters spread out among them. It looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t figure out what she was doing. “What is this, May?” he finally asked.

She continued moving the bits of junk around as though she hadn’t even heard him. “May?” he repeated, coming around the side of the table to look at her face. His breath caught at the concentration there - she was focused on the table to the exclusion of everything around her. He reached a hand out to wave in front of her. “Melinda!”

But May continued as though he wasn’t even there.

Spooked, Ward walked around to her side and looked again at the table. This time, something about it sparked in his memory. He’d seen something like this before.

The first time was in Belarus.

The second time was when they recovered the Bus from John Garrett.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I may be slow, but I do eventually try to update things! The scene with Jemma in particular has been stewing in my head for a while, so I'm happy to be sharing that one. I'm overall pretty happy with this, lots of good plot points coming into play. :)


	4. Reality

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bad news is, similar to the episode this corresponds with, our prisoner Skye does not appear in this chapter or the next. The good news is, this went a lot longer than I ever expected it to and I had to split it into two chapters, so the following chapter is pretty much ready to go. I also ended up doing a lot of outlining that carries through 2x10 with some interesting twists in mind, and those will start coming soon as well. (Though I may work on a couple other fics, first. At the very least, I want to finish Truce soon!)

“Got it,” Ward said as he swung into the control center of the Bus and tossed the thumb drive to Triplett at the computer. “You in the site?”

“Ready and waiting,” Trip responded, plugging in the fob and scrolling to the guest list so he could input Coulson’s and May’s cover identities. “Damn, these tickets cost $25,000 a pop?”

“Hence the sleight of hand.” Ward leaned over and watched as the data was confirmed. “Mack, you’re go on the op.”

Only a few minutes later, Coulson confirmed they’d entered the De Soto mansion across town. “Any more news on security for the painting?”

“The program’s still running its search, but we know there are several layers,” Trip reported. “We’ll need a little more time to give you a full briefing.”

Hunter’s voice broke in over the comms. “Bridgette said De Soto is sending out the painting for verification in the morning. She, uh, whispered it in my ear, if you know what I mean.”

“Yes, everybody on the _planet_ knows what you mean, Hunter. Let’s focus.”

“Right. Upshot is, tonight’s our one shot at getting to the painting.”

“Director,” Ward interrupted, “are you sure you don’t want me there as backup?”

“No thank you, Ward, it hasn’t been that long since I was in the field. We need to minimize our exposure, and I’d rather you stay with the others.” 

Fitz walked in at this point, and Ward caught his eye. “Yes, sir, understood.”

“Good. This writing was in Garrett’s lab, the Obelisk, and now a 500 year old piece of art. It’s important. Getting that painting could mean more answers for us.”

On the other line, May’s laughter echoed over the speakers on the bus. “What was _that?”_ Trip asked.

“That’s May,” both Ward and Coulson answered simultaneously. Trip lifted an eyebrow as Coulson continued, “She’s laughing. Don’t worry, the worst of it’s about over. We’re going to do a little mingling - going radio silent.”

As both comms dropped, Trip turned to look at Ward. “You, uh, seemed to know what that was pretty fast.”

“We’re teammates,” he deadpanned, crossing his arms. “It’s not that hard.”

“I don’t know, man, I’ve been with you guys for several months now, and I’ve never heard her laugh.” Trip turned to Fitz, “You ever heard her laugh like that?”

“I’m not even sure if I’ve ever seen her _smile_.” Fitz had a disturbingly mischievous gleam in his eye. “But, uh, if anyone would know, it’d be Ward.”

“Fitz…” he warned.

“Wait,” Trip breathed. “No way, you and _May?_ You were riding the Cavalry?”

Ward groaned at the pun. “First of all, don’t _ever_ say that again. _Ever_. And second, it’s none of your business.”

“Hey, man, sorry, not gonna ask for details,” Trip put his hands up in a defensive gesture. “I’m just surprised, ‘cause I thought you had a thing for Sk-“

“ _Drop it,_ ” Ward growled. Trip instantly shut up and turned back toward the computer. Ward glared at Fitz, who just shrugged.

As they waited for the Coulson and May to turn back on their comms, Ward’s thoughts lingered on the strange writing they were after. Since he ran into May in the lounge arranging items to form the writing, he’d kept a close watch on her. She tended to wander at different times of night, and he hadn’t yet identified a pattern in the timing, but she would always find herself with a large open space with lots of loose material around to use. She would keep at it until her workspace was full, then seemed to study it before putting everything away and returning to her room. 

Ward had tried to get in to speak with Coulson about it, but so far hadn’t been able to get him alone. If he wasn’t in a larger briefing with the agents at the Playground, he always seemed to have Koenig hovering over his shoulder passing along various information, or he was locking himself away with May, presumably discussing his recruiting trips and upcoming ops. Ward had known for a while that Coulson was actively seeking out more information on the writing, and the painting was their best lead so far. He resolved to make an extra effort afterward to get Coulson alone to discuss May’s strange behavior.

\+ + + + + 

In the De Soto mansion, Melinda May twisted under Coulson’s arm on the dance floor. Turning back into his embrace, he smiled and asked, “Isn’t this fun? Just like when we were younger.”

“Not exactly like it,” she came back. “Or do you think I didn’t notice your hand trembling the whole flight here?”

His smile faded, but didn’t disappear. “Did anyone else notice?”

“No. But your symptoms are getting worse.”

“And you? You don’t look like you’re sleeping much. Any signs of-“

“Nothing we’re not already dealing with,” she interrupted. “I told you I’d let you know if anything would compromise my field work.”

“I know. But…” He took a deep breath, and May knew what was coming. “I know you don’t want to talk about it, but we have to come up with a plan. In case we’re both compromised.”

“You’re right,” May led him into an awkward spin, forcing his concentration to the dance. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“We both know how this could end.”

His voice faded in her attention as she caught a glimpse of a familiar face over at the bar. Her stomach sank. “Phil.”

“I know it’s uncomfortable, but it’s necessary -“

“No, Phil, look.” She pushed his shoulder to turn him around. “Talbot.”

“There goes our cover.”

\+ + + + +

Hours later, when they were waiting for Coulson to return and May was trailing Talbot, Ward sat in the cockpit of the plane flipping through files on his tablet. He looked up when Trip came in and handed him a beer. “What are you doing in here, man, you’re missing all the storytelling.”

“More tales about Hunter’s demonic hell-beast of an ex-wife?” Ward unscrewed the bottle cap and rolled his eyes. “No thanks.”

“Come on, Ward, you’ve gotta loosen up. You can’t work all the time.”

“Who says I’m working?”

Triplett looked pointedly at the tablet sitting in Ward’s lap, which displayed a picture collage of the painting and the writing on its back. “Looks like you’re digging into Coulson’s top secret mission. Did I miss it when he asked you to do some more research?”

Ward turned off the tablet. “No, you didn’t miss anything.” He took a long pull on his beer, looked out over the empty runway. “You ever think that maybe if we’d done a little more digging on Garrett’s missions, we could have caught him sooner?”

Trip sighed and sat down in the co-pilot seat, ran his hand over his mouth in thought. “You can’t do this to yourself, Ward. Nobody suspected it.” Ward just shrugged and took another drink of beer. “Are you saying you don’t trust Coulson?”

“No. Yes. I don’t know.” The fingers wrapped around the beer bottle tapped at it in agitation. “I trust Coulson’s intentions. I just… I can’t operate on limited information anymore, Trip.”

“C’mon, he wiped out the clearance level system -“

“But there are still things he’s not telling us!” Ward shot back heatedly. “Simmons going undercover? Why would he keep that from us? Hell, if anyone went undercover it should have been one of _us_ , she’s not trained for that!” He turned away again. “And all this focus on that damned Obelisk and this writing. Coulson knows more than he’s sharing, I know it.”

“He’s the Director. Of course he’s going to know more than us. That’s the job - making the hard choices, moving us around in the bigger picture.”

“Well, I’m tired of feeling like a chess piece.” He sighed deeply. “Sorry, I don’t mean to unload on you.”

“Hey, no problem; we all feel that way sometimes,” Trip tapped his beer against Ward’s in salute. “Just remember, even the king is a chess piece.” He stood up. “I’ll let you know when Coulson gets back. Don’t go digging into anything you don’t really want to know about, okay?”

Ward nodded. “Thanks.” After Trip left the cockpit, Ward turned the tablet back on; he swiped away the intel on the painting and brought up another file he’d found tucked away on the server, one with photos of carved writing on what looked like a chalkboard.

\+ + + + + 

As May peeked into Talbot’s hotel room, she saw a familiar woman looking through photos of the SHIELD team spread on the credenza. When she flipped a file closed, the white Hydra logo stood out clearly on the black file folder. _Well_ , she thought to herself, _now we know why Agent 33 wasn’t at the safe house anymore_. She waited for the agent to leave the room, then carefully eased in, gun first, and headed toward the bedroom door of the suite. She surprised Agent 33 and took her out quickly; tossing her hair over her shoulder, May examined the woman on the ground before her. “Guess SHIELD didn’t lose much when you went over the Hydra,” she quipped, then turned and caught sight of the painting sitting in the corner of the room. She hurried over, planning to grab it and run. 

But when she flipped it over to check for the writing, she stilled and took a moment to examine it. It was always the same - it was so _familiar_ to her, like a song she knew as a child but could only remember the tune and not the words. She traced her fingers over the rough edges of the lines, the tactile sensation drawing her further in. Deep down, she hoped this was a new variation, that it would be the key to understanding what she and Coulson had locked up inside of them. Because maybe then -

Before she could finish the thought, something hit her on the back of the head, hard, and she fell to the floor next to the dropped painting. Bakshi, dressed in General Talbot’s uniform, stood over her. “If you just wanted to see the painting,” he smirked, “you could have asked.”


	5. Teamwork

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Told you it was coming up fast! :)

“So Talbot was being _honest?_ ” Coulson stared at May with incredulity. He didn’t have a gameplan for this angle.

“Surprised the hell out of me, too,” May admitted. “It looks like he wants to work with you on this one.”

“Wow,” Coulson said. “Maybe we’re getting through to him.”

“He only wants to meet with you.” May smirked, surprising Coulson. “But you know I’m not going to let you go out there alone.”

“Great. Let’s move.” Coulson turned to go back through to the team and fill them in briefly.

He wasn’t surprised when Ward was the one to object to the plan. “Sir, you can’t honestly trust Talbot on this one.”

“Oh, I don’t trust him,” Coulson admitted. “But I think this time, we’re both after the same thing. And he can’t do it without me. So, for now, we work together.”

He heard a car honk outside the plane and rolled his eyes. “And that’s May’s reminder to get moving. Everyone, stay put. We should be back in a couple of hours.” He looked pointedly at Ward. “That means everyone.”

Ward crossed his arms and scowled, but he nodded, accepting the order.

Ten minutes later in the car, Coulson took a deep breath before launching into what he knew would be a difficult discussion. “So. The plan.”

“Shouldn’t be too hard,” May responded. “Talk to Talbot, see what he has to say, get the painting.”

“No, not _that_ plan,” Coulson looked at May in surprise. “The _other_ plan.”

“Ok, the plan,” May nodded jerkily.

“Look, I don’t like having to wait until we trapped in a car to talk about this, but you haven’t left me much choice.”

“I guess I didn’t, no,” she admitted softly, focused on the road ahead.

“I just need to know that if things get bad, we have someone we can trust to do what needs to be done. And I don’t think we can rely on each other for this. Do you understand what I mean?”

She nodded softly. “Okay.”

“It’s not just someone to take us out,” he admitted. May shot him a sharp look. “The hard part is what comes after. SHIELD will need leadership, a new Director. If things were different…” He leaned his head back against the seat. “You’re the only one I really trust, May. I need your help deciding who to bring in on this.”

She turned to look at him, her face as sad as he’d ever seen it. “I understand.” She reached over to squeeze his hand. “We’ll figure this out. Together.”

Coulson looked down at her hand holding his, surprised by the gesture. “You sure you’re holding up okay?”

She pulled her hand back as though realizing she’d revealed too much. “I promise, I’m fine. Let’s just focus on one thing at a time.”

“Okay,” Coulson agreed. But he kept a close eye on her the rest of the way to the hotel.

\+ + + + +

Meanwhile, the team on the bus was discovering something terribly wrong as systems started shutting down and sparks erupted around them. Ward swore colorfully as he fought with the communications systems to get a message out. “We’re deaf and dumb until we figure this out, people!”

“Okay,” Fitz brought up the electrical schematics for the plane as he tried to explain what was going on. “It’s like, um, it’s like a small, um, disease -“

“A virus?” Mack prompted.

“Yeah. And it’s going through, um, through the plane’s, um -“

“The plane’s electrical system,” Hunter finished for him.

“Yeah, yeah,” Fitz agreed, “blowing things up.”

“Okay,” Mack came around the table to stand next to Fitz. “Stabilizers, comms, then -“

“The next thing would be -“ Fitz overlapped him.

Triplett came back in from the cockpit, “Nav systems just blew.”

“There we go,” Fitz acknowledged him.

“We can’t take off.”

“That means monitors are next,” Mack added, “and then, next comes…” he trailed off.

“The wings!” Fitz announced. “The wings are next. With…”

Ward didn’t like the look on the man’s face. “With _what,_ Fitz?”

“Where the fuel is,” Mack inserted. “So then we’ll…”

“Brrrm,” Fitz imitated the sound of an explosion, and sparks above Ward forced him to duck as though in emphasis.

Ward ran around the table, grabbing Fitz by the shoulders so he could look him in the eye. “Fitz, we’re not going to let that happen, right?” The younger man’s eyes were wide, but he nodded in agreement. “All right. Then tell us how to _fix_ this.”

“Right. Right. Um,” Fitz pulled away and flapped his hands as he tried to concentrate. “Okay, if we fix, um, fix what’s broken, it’ll have to go back, it’ll go back and slow down -“

“You mean the virus won’t progress if the earlier systems come back online?” Mack asked in clarification.

“Yes. So, first step is what’s broken.” Standing tall, Fitz started barking out orders. “Mack, you go fix the, the, the stabilizers. Ward, you fix the comms. And Trip -“

“I’ve got the nav system,” Trip agreed, already turning to return to the cockpit.

“What about me?” Hunter asked.

“You, come with me,” Fitz grabbed him and dragged him.

Ward looked over to Mack and shrugged. “Guess we’ve got our orders.”

“Yeah,” Mack agreed before heading to the maintenance bay behind the garage on the lower level.

Ward ducked around the corner to the comms closet behind the cockpit, shaking his head at the mass of wires. “Okay, where do I start?” he asked himself. “Well, let’s make things simpler.” He went through and unplugged everything he could find, then traced through to find the primary system. He opened up the panel and coughed at the smell of fried electrical components. “Shit.” Looking around, he spotted a supply cabinet and looked inside for replacement parts, relieved to see something similar to what he needed. He pulled out the fried components and slid in a new panel, then plugged the system back in. He turned on the radio receiver and scanned through the channels until something came in. “Comms are receiving!” he shouted.

Above him, the emergency lights flickered and he heard a loud crackling go through the electrical system. Ward instinctively ducked to cover his head, ready to weather through an explosion. The lights went out, and he held his breath - then, the primary lights came back up, and the plane went quiet.

“We did it!” Trip shouted from the cockpit. Ward stood up and breathed deeply in relief, which he instantly regretted as his lungs filled with the smoke from the fried systems and he doubled over coughing.

\+ + + + +

At the hotel, Coulson chased Bakshi, dressed as Talbot, through the halls while May took care of her double at the suite. He heard the man shouting orders into a phone for an extraction as he turned a corner. Coulson followed behind, drawing his ICER. Once around the corner, he saw the man running through a long hallway, giving Coulson the opportunity to aim and fire, taking him down.

Shaking his head, Coulson walked down the hallway to pick up the painting. Apparently Bakshi had put his phone on speaker; a voice echoed from the phone, “Sir, extraction team is two minutes out.”

“Damn,” Coulson muttered, then he tucked the painting under his arm and ran back to the suite for May. He found her in the kitchen standing over her double who was passed out on the floor, the synth mask on her face smoking. “We’ve gotta go. _Now_.”

May nodded, and pointed them toward the door to the balcony. As they climbed over and slid down to reenter the building through the hotel room below, Coulson couldn’t help remarking, “You know, some things about the old days I would have rather left in the past.”

May just rolled her eyes and kicked in the patio door to let them into the room. “Let’s go.”

\+ + + + +

Back at the base, Ward was getting dressed after his shower when he heard a knock at the door. He quickly pulled on a black t-shirt before opening it to find Hunter on the other side. “Yeah?” he asked.

The mercenary held up a back of beers. “Thought you might want to join us for a cold one down the hall.”

Ward shook his head. “Thanks, but I’ve got a meeting with Coulson in a few minutes.” He started to close the door but found it blocked by Hunter’s hand. He glared at him, but it didn’t have the usual effect.

“You know, it wouldn’t kill you to spend some time with your teammates.”

Grimacing, Ward let up the pressure on the door. “That doesn’t usually work out so well for me.”

“I’m not asking for a lifetime commitment, here, mate!” Hunter exclaimed. “It’s just a couple of beers.”

Ward rolled his eyes in exasperation. “Why do you even care if I join you?”

Hunter shrugged. “Dunno. Hard to trust a man who won’t even sit with you long enough to have a beer. And we’re supposed to trust each other in the field, so…”

Feeling a headache coming on, Ward reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose in annoyance. “Fine. Maybe I’ll stop by after meeting with Coulson.”

“Great!” Hunter backed away into the hall and gave him a jaunty salute. “See you there.”

Ward grabbed his shoes to slip on and pulled his lanyard over his head, then locked the door to his room and walked to Coulson’s office. In his head, he practiced what he would say - how he would explain finding May making those designs at night, what he’d found on the servers, and exactly how he would convince the Director to tell him what was really going on with that strange writing. Stopping outside the office, he straightened his shoulders and gathered every ounce of professionalism he had before knocking sharply.

“Come in, Ward.”

Pushing open the door, Ward stepped in and greeted, “Director, thank you for meeting with me tonight -“ He stopped short when he caught site of May in the room, standing near the dark windows to the left of where Coulson sat behind his desk. “I’m sorry, sir, I thought this was going to be a private meeting.”

“It still is.” Coulson waved at an empty chair before him. “Please, sit down.”

Ward carefully closed the door behind him and eased into the chair warily, trying to reformulate how to approach this. Coulson just smiled in encouragement. _Well,_ Ward thought to himself, _I guess I just have to hope May won’t try to deny what’s happening._ “Sir, I’m sorry, this is just a little uncomfortable because what I need to talk to you about - it includes May.”

Coulson raised an eyebrow. “Does it, now.” May turned her head slightly as though to hear better, but didn’t turn away from the window.

“I’ve actually been trying to meet with you for a while on this,” Ward stalled. When the Director simply nodded, he decided to barge on ahead. “Sir, I’ve caught May sleepwalking at night several times. And, not just sleepwalking. Her behavior -“ he stopped short as May turned around from the window. He watched her carefully, but couldn’t distinguish any emotion on her face. _The hell with it._ “Sir, I think May’s been compromised by the GH-325. She’s recreating the writing, like Garrett did after he was dosed.”

Surprisingly, Coulson smiled. “You see, May. I told you he was the right person for this.”

May grimaced and nodded, then walked over to sit down next to Ward. “It’s not sleepwalking.” She admitted.

“So,” Ward looked between the two of them. “You already knew about this?”

“Yes,” Coulson admitted. “Unfortunately, May is not the only one affected. That’s why we’re going to need your help, on a very special assignment.”

Somehow, Ward knew he was not going to like this new assignment. Not one little bit.


	6. The Devil's Bed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know it's been months since I've updated. I wish I could say I'll be better in the future, but it's probably more realistic to say "Get used to it." *shrug* In the meantime, yay, plot moves forward!

Ward stood before the wall in Coulson’s office that was full of carved alien writing, running a hand through his hair as he processed everything he’d just been told. “When did you start doing this?”

“First night I saw Garrett’s writings,” Coulson answered. “I guess it triggered something in me. May started a couple weeks earlier than I did, but didn’t say anything about it until she saw mine.”

“What do you think caused it?” Ward asked.

“The GH-formula, most likely. Garrett, May and I were all injected… not a coincidence.”

“Especially not in our line of work,” Ward agreed. “Any other sources?”

“Just the ones you’ve helped us find so far.”

“That doesn’t give us much.” He crossed his arms as he turned from the wall and sighed. “There’s another source of information we haven’t used yet.”

Coulson and May exchanged a look between the two of them. “You’re not suggesting what I think you are,” May countered.

“She spent more time with Garrett after he was injected than anyone else, except maybe Raina. She has to know _something_. And you said it yourself, Coulson - she’s the best damned code breaker you’ve ever seen.”

“You realize you’re suggesting we share highly sensitive intel with a _Hydra agent_?” Coulson was skeptical, but Ward could see he was considering the idea.

“She’s locked up in the basement. She’s not going _anywhere_. Who’s she going to tell? And we _did_ keep her here for intelligence value. If she can help us with this, it’ll be bigger than anything else she’s given us so far.”

“Phil…” May objected, looking uneasy.

“He’s right,” he said softly. Coulson nodded firmly, his mind made up. “Do it.”

\+ + + + + + + + + + +

Jemma concentrated on steadying her breathing and stopping her hands from shaking as she exited the laboratory maze. Planting the flex screen in Dr. Turgeon’s workstation had been necessary to keep her cover - but she couldn’t stop thinking about him being dragged away by the security guards, pleading his innocence. _He’s no innocent_ , she reminded herself. _He’s complicit in building a weapon that could kill_ millions _of people. He deserves whatever he gets._

It helped, a little. She took a deep breath and hurried down the hall, eager to reach the ladies’ room for some privacy. But before she arrived, Dr. Zabo turned into her path and nearly knocked her down. “Ah, just the scientist I was looking for!” he cried with enthusiasm. Before she knew it, he’d taken her arm and steered her in the direction he’d just come from.

“Dr. Whitehall transferred responsibility to me for the Obelisk from Dr. Lingenfelter, and suggested that I consult with you. I understand you are quite the expert on alien biology?”

“Um, well, yes,” Jemma admitted, tripping while trying to keep up with his long strides. ‘In fact, in the academy -“

“Splendid!” Zabo pulled her into a lab at the end of the hallway. The door banged on a cart. “Oops, watch your step.”

The lab was a _disaster_. If there was one thing Jemma had come to appreciate about working in Hydra, it was the pristine nature of the laboratories. Everything was kept in order, carefully inventoried and maintained. It had been this way throughout the building. But Dr. Zabo’s lab looked like something out of a mad scientist horror film. Equipment lay scattered wherever it had fallen; specimen jars lined the shelves and filled a glass refrigerator unit; papers lay in uneven piles around the desktop computer. Jemma stepped carefully between the various tables and carts filling the center of the room while Zabo babbled, recapping the briefing she’d already received on the results of Lingenfelter’s field test.

Finally, she interrupted, “Dr. Zabo, I already know all about the field test. What exactly was it that you wanted me to come in here for?”

“You’ve been reassigned to work with me on this.” Dr. Zabo pulled a case up from the floor, brushed some papers off a table and placed it carefully on the top. He unsnapped the clasps and lifted the lid toward her. Jemma moved around to his side to look inside, and her breath caught. This close, she could see the metal sides weren’t smooth as she’d thought, but covered in very fine lines, forming some kind of pattern that she couldn’t decipher.

“Is that -“

“Yes.” Zabo looked at the Obelisk laying in the case with a wide smile, his eyes wide with manic glee. “So, are you in?”

\+ + + + + + + + + + +

“There’s never a _good_ time,” Ward smiled as he passed her a tumbler of scotch. Skye’s fingers brushed his as she accepted the glass, and she shivered slightly. “At least right now we have a little quiet time.”

She hummed in agreement as she sipped her drink. Inwardly, she was conflicted; when the team left Ward behind to recuperate from his injuries, it made it harder for her to sneak away from the base with the data as she’d planned. But part of her was also craving this chance to spend some time alone with him, just _once_ before she had to leave. Before she had to destroy everything.

She reached out a hand, and when he clasped it she led him over to the sofa and set her glass down on the coffee table. “I doubt this is what Simmons had in mind when she left you here to heal.”

He shrugged, and took another sip of his drink before setting it down next to hers. “Well, she did tell me to relax…”

Skye laughed gently, and his eyes lit up. She could feel his gaze skimming over her face as though he was touching her, and she shifted in her seat to break the scrutiny. “I was beginning to think specialists didn’t know the meaning of the word.”

Ward’s face dropped slightly. “Yeah,” he reached a weary hand up to scrub at his face. “It’s not easy.”

“Why not?” she asked, and they both understood she’d picked up the subtext - he was referring just as much to this _thing_ between them as the concept of relaxing.

“As a specialist, you live ready to do the job. Always on alert, ready to move at a moment’s notice.” He rubbed his thumb lightly over her knuckles where they still held hands. “Avoiding attachments. It’s easier that way. Safer.”

Her chest ached as the words resonated with her, but she forcibly pushed it aside. _I’m Skye. I’m Skye_. “But why does that mean pushing everyone away? Wouldn’t it be better to have someone who knows everything? Who understands?”

He shook his head. “If you knew everything… I’m _not_ a good man, Skye.”

She scoffed at the ridiculous statement. “What, you think I don’t have skeletons?”

He reached to grasp her other hand, holding both between them as he looked down, avoiding her gaze. “There are things about me you don’t know. Things I’ve done…”

 _God_ , she just wanted him to stop talking. She’d dreamed of telling him the truth, and it had always been _her_ using those words, _her_ feeling insecure about whether he’d still accept her. She lifted up his chin to force him to look at her, and she poured every bit of herself into him as she said, “You are the _best_ man I have ever known. And no matter what you’ve done, or what you do, you always will be.”

His eyes searched hers, and her body was screaming to lean in and kiss him. Because that’s what happens next. She leans in and she kisses him, and he holds her so close it’s like he’s trying to make her a part of himself, and they anchor each other against the chaos of their worlds colliding outside.

But instead, his eyes grew cold and he leaned away. “Then why are you betraying me?”

 _No_ , she scrambled towards him, but he kept moving backwards. “No, wait, you don’t understand - “

“You betrayed us, Skye.” The room around them grew dark, and suddenly it was Fitzsimmons standing before her, holding hands and looking frightened. “Why? Why are you doing this?”

“Wait, you don’t _understand!_ ”

A gunshot rang out, and Daisy jumped up from where she’s lying in the bed, breathing hard and pushing her hair out of her face. She swore profusely and blinked back tears. Finally looking up, she saw Ward standing on the other side of the invisible cell wall.

 _Fan-fucking-tastic_.

Once awake, she understood the shot in her dream had actually been the door opening and closing as he entered. She’d fallen asleep again in the middle of the day.

Well, it’s not like she had anything _better_ to do with her time.

“What do you want?” she snapped, then winced at herself. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to -“

“How much do you know about this?” He held up the tablet for her to look at, forcing her to stand up and walk over to him.

The screen displayed an image taken of the glass door Garrett had been carving on from the Bus. “That’s from Garrett.”

He sighed in annoyance, a familiar sound. “Yes. We know that. But do you know what it _means?_ ”

She remembered her father helping to prepare her for going undercover with SHIELD. _No matter what happens, you must_ never _share this with anyone else. It’s a matter of life and death. Do you understand?_ “It had something to do with the GH formula,” she hedged.

“Can you decode it? Understand what it says?”

_Do you understand?_

“I…” She looked closer, her heart racing. She couldn’t risk them knowing… but this may be her _only_ chance, and if she ever managed to get out, if this could help, how could she pass up this opportunity? “I might. But it never seemed complete.”

He tapped the tablet and brought up other images, new ones. Some were carved into a dark stone - a chalkboard? - and others were made with objects arranged to form the lines and circles, like a child’s creation from building blocks. “We have more like this. But we can’t put it together, we can’t understand it. If we set you up to look through everything, do you think you can decode it?”

She looked up and met his eyes. He had his face perfectly blank, but she knew him well by now. He couldn’t hide the anxiety behind that cool gaze. This was important to him. Important enough to give her some leeway.

“I think I can,” she told him slowly. But how am I going to work on it in here?”

He keyed in a command on the tablet, and half the wall lit up like a computer screen. Daisy stepped to the side and looked at the simulated desktop with something close to glee. “You should be able to manipulate this with your hands, look through the files. It’s not connected to the mainframe,” he warned. “It’s a completely separate server, and it only has the images you’ll be working on, nothing more.”

 _It’s still a computer_ , she thought to herself happily. Aloud, she made some kind of sounds of agreement, and reached up to “tap” on one of the folders displayed, testing how lightly she could get it to register so as to avoid being shocked. It easily responded to her command and opened up a directory full of image files. “I’ll need a way to keep notes,” she said absently, opening up the first images to study.

“We’ll provide a pad and pencil.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “Paper? _Really?_ ”

“After what I’ve seen you do with a computer?” he drawled. “No way you’re getting a keyboard.”

“Fine,” she sighed dramatically. But she couldn’t contain the small smile. “Thanks.”

This startled him. “What - this isn’t for you.”

“I know, but it’s still better than dying of boredom, so…” she shrugged, trying to make light of the excitement bubbling up inside of her. “Well, where’s that paper?”

Ward shook his head in exasperation. “I’ll be back with it soon. Just… don’t break anything.”

She held her empty hands up and wiggled her fingers. “Don’t think that’ll be a problem unless I develop magical powers.”

He opened and closed his mouth, then turned and walked up the stairs without a reply.

Turning back to the screen even before he’d reached the top, Daisy eagerly started sorting through the images to put them together.


	7. Fascination

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jemma is asked to analyze Hydra's latest field test as it continues to try and create a weapon based on the Obelisk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Normally I don't worry about warnings, but this does get a little, well, horror movie gruesome. Think the level of stuff from the Fringe TV show.

“Hey, knock that off!” A middle aged woman swiped at the hand reaching for one of the rolls on her tray, then glared at the cheeky grin offered in reply. “Not only will you burn yourself, but these _aren’t_ for you.”

“Aw, c’mon, nobody will even notice one less of ‘em.” The culprit, a teenage boy with an oversized band shirt under his stained apron, danced between the kitchen counters and other people working in the kitchen to stay out of her way.

“That’s not the point!” The woman gave him a sharp eye. “You’re here to feed _other_ people today, not yourself. Now grab one of those pots.”

“Yeah, yeah…” he muttered, slipping on some hot mitts and picking up a large pot of soup. As he passed through the swinging doors to the dining room beyond, the noise changed from the clanking of a busy kitchen to the low murmur of hungry people waiting in line. His eyes skipped along, only seeing the ragged clothes and overstuffed bags carried along rather than the weary people beyond them. Not for the first time, he wished he’d picked some other volunteer gig to get his required community service hours for graduation. But as it was, he stood behind the counter and helped spoon out soup into the bowls held before him.

As was the usual routine, they had four counters set up to help serve everyone quickly, and the diners all sat down at the table and waited patiently before eating, though the wait was visibly difficult for some. But soon, everyone was seated and a man wearing a cleric’s collar stood before them all. “Lord, we thank you for this bread today to nourish our bodies, and for the blessing of this community coming together in worship of you. May your grace nourish our souls today and forevermore.”

“ _Amen_ ,” rang out along the tables, and then the meal began. At first it was quiet as they sated their immediate hunger, but slowly conversation passed up and down the seats. The volunteers started to clear the serving dishes, taking them into the back to wash them up. Spotting a half-roll left behind, the teen volunteer used it to swab a little leftover soup and quickly swallowed it down before the team leader could spot him.

He’d come back out with a wet dishcloth to wipe down the counters when it started - in the middle of the tables, an older man started to gasp and choke. The pastor and another volunteer moved in quickly to help; it was not unusual for one of their older guests to have trouble breathing or even to suffer heart palpitations while with them. But soon a second diner began to gasp, and then a third, and then it seemed that they _all_ were gasping, bending over at the middle and clawing at their faces as they struggled in pain.

“Someone call 911!” the pastor shouted, and more volunteers ran out from the kitchen. The teen stood in shock, frozen as he watched the first man give a gasping cry as the skin around his mouth grew dark and cracked, as if he were turning into stone. His quiet scream as he died rang out like a banshee’s call, and everyone began to panic when he fell to the ground and broke into large pieces like a dropped china doll.

The boy backed himself up against the wall when the paramedics ran in, unable to assist anyone but trying to instill some sense of order. Frightened, he turned and ran into the kitchen, grabbed up his jacket and fled through the back door. He ran down the street, then stumbled as a sharp pain struck him in the middle. His breathing grew labored, and his fingers began to feel numb. He stopped in the walk amidst people walking by on their daily business, and he stared as his shaking hands turned into a dusky gray.

\+ + + + + + + + + + +

“Dr. Simmons!”

Jemma looked up from her work station when she heard Dr. Zabo shouting from the doorway. He made for quite the scene as he rushed toward her - the goggles pushed back up on his forehead were flecked with blood, it looked as though his mussed hair might also have streaks of blood running through it, and if his lab coat weren’t the uniform black worn at Hydra then Jemma suspected she’d see blood there, too. At least his hands were clean, most likely due to gloves he’d removed before coming to her work area. Technicians jumped to protect their work as he rushed by without concern for what he bumped into. His focus was entirely on the small British woman he’d come to collect. “Dr. Simmons, you have to see this, it’s absolutely fascinating!”

Before she could protest, he’d grabbed hold of her by the elbow and plowed a way back to the hallway. “Dr. Zabo, what on _earth_ -“

“I’ve been working with the most _amazing_ specimens from today’s field tests, oh, just wait until you see them!” He punched at the elevator button, then continued pressing it frantically until the doors opened. “Just wait!” he repeated, swaying back and forth on his toes.

“What field test, Doctor, I wasn’t aware any were scheduled for today.” Internally, Jemma held back her panic. She’d been keeping an ear open for word of any more “tests” to be conducted in hopes of sending the information to SHIELD so they could head off the teams.

“Oh, this was something last minute, an idea someone had that we just had to try. And it gave us some truly fascinating results.” The elevator stopped, and he dragged her out and through the hall to his lab. “Fantastic idea, really.”

As the lab door swung open, Jemma nearly gagged at the overwhelming smell of blood. Zabo’s usual tables had been pushed aside to make room for at least a dozen stretchers holding fresh bodies. She barely noticed as Zabo shoved gloves and goggles into her hands, urging her to put them on and come see his great discovery. She stared in mute horror as she approached - the bodies had clearly been autopsied, which would normally not have bothered her all that much, but these bodies were in various stages of, well, _calcifying_? What does one call the process of flesh turning into, for all appearances, stone?

“I must commend the field team, they did an excellent job of controlling the experiment this time around.” Zabo pointed at the midsection of the first body. “The contagion was ingested in the same manner by everyone, and at nearly the same time, if their reports are accurate. And yet each one varies slightly in how fast and in what ways the contagion spread from the digestive tract. If you look closely here -“ He stopped. “Dr. Simmons, are you all right?”

Jemma shook herself out of her stupor. “Yes, yes, I’m fine. You were saying?”

Zabo eyed her carefully, almost, she could imagine, with concern. “You are familiar with the autopsy process, aren’t you?”

“Of course!” If her answer was a bit more high pitched than she would like, no one there was going to tell on her. “Of course,” she repeated, “I’m quite familiar with the process and ready to assist you in whatever capacity is needed.”

“It’s just that you seem a little upset.”

“Oh, no, no, definitely not!” Jemma forced herself to laugh lightly. “Sorry, I just wasn’t expecting something like this so soon after lunch. Not a problem.”

“All right, then.” Zabo tugged at her lab coat, smearing it with blood as he pulled her to a table with two human brains sitting on trays. Each one was cut in a precise manner with streaks of dye in particular locations. “This is the truly fascinating part. You are, of course, aware that the human body secretes particular chemicals when it is in pain, yes?”

“Of course.”

“Well, the human brain absorbs this chemical and retains it for quite some time; the chemical dyes show it here. I have a process that helps us to analyze not only how long the body was producing this chemical, but even a way to identify which part of the body it was produced in based on certain markers before it was absorbed into the CNS.” With that, he pointed her to a nearby screen with data on it. “In each of these specimens, I have found that parts of the body was still producing this pain chemical even _after_ death occurred.”

“I’m sorry, come again?” Jemma asked, alarmed.

“Normally, once the CNS begins to shut down, the body stops producing these pain chemicals. After all, the purpose of these chemicals is to instruct the body on where to focus its healing energies after an injury.” Jemma struggled to keep the skepticism she felt out of her expression. “If there is no active CNS, then there’s no point in producing the chemical. But in this case, the contagion _itself_ seemed to take the place of the CNS in this process, and so the body continued to produce this chemical.” Zabo turned back to the screens and sighed happily. “ _Fascinating._ ”

Jemma swallowed the bile in her throat. “Are these all of the, um, specimens then?”

“Oh, no, this was just a sampling of them.” Zabo swept an arm out as if to encompass all of the bodies in the lab. “There were too many bodies for the local morgue to handle so they were looking for help. Our team was kind enough to volunteer our services and brought a few truckloads here. So we’ll prepare adequately benign reports to send back to for the police investigation. And we don’t have to worry about anyone claiming the bodies, as they were all homeless anyway. Like I said, a fantastic idea for a field test. Couldn’t have planned it better myself.” He clapped his hands loudly. “So, are you ready to help with some more of these? I’ve only started with the first couple, but once I realized just what I had I knew I would need some help.”

“Absolutely.” Jemma forced herself to shift into a professional mode. “So you want me to continue working on tracing the pain chemicals?”

“No, actually,” Zabo’s face fell a bit, “our primary assignment is actually to identify how long it took for each one to die, and whether or not the concentration of the contagion is a factor. Because everything has to be made into a weapon, of course!” He threw his hands up in frustration. “Weapons, weapons, weapons. That’s all anyone ever talks about around here. This could be one of the greatest breakthroughs we’ve had in regeneration and all they care about is weapons.”

“Regeneration?” Jemma interrupted. “What are you talking about?”

“The pain!” Zabo cried in response. “It’s all linked to pain. That’s what starts the healing process, after all, it’s what tells the body that something is wrong. And here we have something that continues to process that pain even after the CNS is dead!” He grabbed a tray of tools and shoves them at Jemma, clearly indicating she should start her work. “You’d think Whitehall of all people would be interested in learning more about that, but _no_ , of course not, he just wants the _weapon_ so he can exert more control, and instead I have to continue my work on the side, just like always…” Zabo continued ranting as he moved toward a body on the other side of the room and violently slashed at it to start the autopsy.

Deciding that silence was likely her best option available, Jemma quietly set out her tools next to the body of a middle-aged, but deeply worn down, woman. She silently apologized for her part in the woman’s death, however remote, then began the autopsy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *CNS - central nervous system
> 
> This was totally sci-fi medical babble made up to suit the story. I make absolutely no claims to accuracy here whatsoever, and deliberately didn’t go to do any research so that I wouldn’t talk myself out of an important piece of my plot! After all, c’mon, we’re talking about alien enhanced people and stuff here, not exactly high standards for scientific bases.
> 
> I should probably note that much of my description of Zabo’s labwork is inspired by the lab in Fringe. Which may somewhat explain the warning at the beginning of the chapter.
> 
> I'm hoping the next chapter comes along quickly. I know this didn't get back to the main group at all, but this was going to be only half of the chapter until I saw the word count escalating. At the same time, some of this was important to establish. And I always felt like the compromises Jemma had to make while undercover at Hydra weren't given the attention they deserved, so it's been nice to work on that side of things.


End file.
